


Vita e Morte

by JulietDawson



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Eventual Romance, Foreign Language, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vampire!Frank, Vampires, Violence, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 15:23:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7981423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulietDawson/pseuds/JulietDawson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Iero is an Italian-born vampire who has chosen to lead a solitary existence, never seeking out companionship or even a mate, and for the past one hundred and twenty six years, it has suited him well. </p><p>But will one human by the name of Gerard change all that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have recently become obsessed with vampires again, and I wanted to flex my skills as a writer by creating a vampire AU.
> 
> Depending on how well received this is, I might make this into a multi-chaptered fic, but then again, that all depends on you, the audience.
> 
> So leave some feedback if you would like to see more of this!

New York City, New York

Present Day

 

Frank Iero sits in his regular spot, a cigarette in his cold dead hands, a glint in his eye, as he watches the tall, black haired boy. He looks no older than twenty one, his back hunched slightly, the corner of his top lip arched in a fashion that entrances Frank, his greasy, black hair settling in his face like a dark curtain.

 

Frank has been watching him for a while now, curious by the boy’s presence in the vampire club. He’s definitely human, that’s for sure; it’s apparent even past the pale, white and deadish looking makeup.

 

Frank can’t decide if the guy has a death wish or is just looking for a hookup. It seems as if he’s looking for both, considering the amount of skin he’s showing in his black tank top and how he keeps flaunting his perfect ass in his black skinny jeans.

 

Frank watches as the young man dances amongst Frank’s fellow dead brethren, grinding and angling his neck towards any vampire that comes close. Which is pretty much every vampire, since they’re all so captured by this human who hasn’t shown a sliver of fear at being surrounded by the throng of bloodsucking parasites.

 

One of the vampires comes particularly close to the boy, licking his neck and placing his hands on his waist, grinding against him.

 

For some reason, this pisses Frank off. He wanted to make his move, before any of the other vampires had the chance to, and Frank knew if he didn’t move now, he would miss his.

 

Frank flicks his cigarette to the side and speeds towards the two, giving the vampire in front of him a nasty look. 

 

“Can we help you?” The vampire asks, shooting Frank a questioning glare.

 

“Yeah. Think it’s my turn with this black haired beauty, if you don’t mind.” Frank says, taking said beauty’s hand and spinning him away from the throng of bodies dancing on the floor.

 

The boy looks at Frank puzzled, but dances with him anyway. “What was all that about?” He asks, moving closer to Frank, resting his arms on the shorter man’s shoulders.

 

“Wanted to dance with you.” Frank leans forward and licks the shell of the boy’s ear. “Is that a crime?” Frank whispers into his ear, leaning back. The boy shudders, grinding his body onto Frank’s. 

 

“No,” The younger man purrs, tracing a finger on the scorpion that adorns Frank’s neck.

 

“Such an interesting tattoo. Did you get that before you turned?” He asks, and Frank chuckles.

 

“Think that would be an obvious answer, don’t you? Considering vampires heal quite quickly and are indestructible, which would make it hard to get a tattoo.” Frank says, smiling, his fangs popping out. “What’s your name kid?”

 

The stranger looks down at Frank’s fangs, pearly and glistening in the light of the club. “Gerard.” 

 

“Well, Gerard, I’m Frank. Nice to meet you.” Frank gives Gerard a big, toothy grin, further showing off his fangs.

 

Gerard licks his lips, and leans forward for a kiss. 

 

Frank is all too happy to reciprocate, his hold on the man tightening as he probes his tongue into Gerard’s mouth, tasting him and savoring all of it. The boy yelps a little, and Frank pulls away, his eyes darkening with lust, licking his lips clean of the small amount of blood that came from the cut on Gerard’s lip.

 

“Did you bite me?” Gerard asks, bringing up one finger to the small cut and wiping away the blood that had pooled there.

 

“No. Fangs must’ve nicked you. Although,” Frank pulls Gerard back into a tight embrace, eyeing the boy’s bleeding lip, and licking his own, “You taste magnificent.”

 

Gerard shudders visibly, and eyes Frank’s fangs. “Would it be wrong of me to ask you to bite me?”

 

Frank stops his study of the boy’s angular features, and lets him go. “Possibly. Why do you want me to bite you?” Frank watches him wearily, not unfamiliar with the treachery radical humans tended to play on new vampires: getting them to bite, only to infect them with the D-Virus.

 

The D-Virus was fucking deadly to new vampires: it only worsened the precarious and unpredictable nature they had. It caused them to have an even more uncontrollable need to feed, which in turn contributed to the spikes in human deaths.

 

This only put a strain on the already shaky human-vampire relations in the country, to which Frank could care less. He kept out of the way of many of the older, more powerful vampires in charge, only feeding when necessary, so as not to cause a stir.

 

Fortunately, Frank would not suffer much from the D-Virus if he ever caught it, because Frank was not a new vampire; he was over a hundred years old.

 

More like a hundred and twenty six, but then again, who was keeping track?

 

“Why do you want me to bite you?” Frank repeats, backing away from Gerard, his fangs retracting back into his gums.

 

“I-- I just wanna know what it feels like.” Gerard mumbles, looking down at his feet, avoiding the questioning vampire’s gaze.

 

Frank continues in his study of the boy. “No.”

 

Gerard looks confused. “Why?”

 

Frank snorts. “Because you wish it.” He begins circling Gerard, who looks nervous. “Vampires don’t follow commands so easily, not unless the ones making said commands are the ones who made the vampire.” Frank stops, leaning in and tipping Gerard’s head to the side, exposing the soft, pale flesh of his neck. “And you,  _ il mio ragazzo _ , are not my maker.” He lets go of Gerard, pushing him away, and turns to leave, wondering why he bothered to waste his time with the black haired boy in the first place.

 

Frank feels a tug, and looks behind to see Gerard grasping his arm. “Don’t leave, please. I like you.” Gerard pleads, holding tightly onto the vampire. 

 

Frank sneers. “You barely know me.” Frank shrugs out of Gerard’s hand. “What could you possibly want with an old vampire like me?” He gestures to the other vampire Gerard had been dancing with, who was watching them intently across the room. “Why don’t you go along and play with the younger ones? They’ll bite you for sure.” Frank turns to leave again, only to be caught once more by Gerard’s hand.

 

“No. I want you.” Gerard says, and Frank turns around, smiling. 

 

_ “ _ _ Come sei determinato, piccola,” _ Frank drawls out in his Old World tongue. “You are quite determined, no?”

 

Gerard smiles. “I always get what I want.” He pulls the older vampire close, searching his eyes. “And you are not going to be an exception to that rule.”

 

“Oh?” Frank traces the outline of the boy’s jaw, trailing his fingers down Gerard’s neck and dancing them across his collarbone. “And if I say no?”

 

Gerard chuckles. “I’ll just have to show you what you’re missing out on then, won’t I?” Gerard leans forward and licks the vampire’s lips, smiling as he pushes him away and saunters towards the younger vampire he had been dancing with earlier. 

 

Frank chuckles, entertained by the young boy’s antics. Frank watches as Gerard grinds against the young vampire, maintaining eye contact with Frank.

 

Frank shakes his head but continues watching the boy. Gerard leans forward and seems to whisper in the vampires ear, who in turn nods and bares his fangs, licking a long stripe down Gerard’s neck, and from the looks of it, he’s fixing to bite the black haired boy.

 

Frank sighs and turns away, making his way to the front doors of the establishment, not wishing to stick around.

 

As he walks out the doors of the club, he’s met with the cold air of the New York night, not that it affects him. He sighs again and treks onward, to his apartment near Central Park, opting to walk the long distance instead of using the subway.

 

Nights like these, Frank is glad he leads a lonely existence, never seeking out a mate, or even a coven, opting to be alone in his own world. He found humans and vampires troublesome, their company often annoying and tiring, grating on his everlasting nerves. Vampires, with their incessant need for violence, their bloodthirsty nature, their complete disregard for any other life.

 

Humans, in that aspect, were the same. Except everything they knew was temporary, and in that sense, Frank understood their need to have everything quick and easy. He, after all, had been human once, even though it seemed lifetimes ago. Frank couldn't stand humans while he was one.

 

But what Frank found funny was that he now was vampire, had been for over a hundred years, and he couldn't stand vampires either.

 

Frank laughs bitterly, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and stopping to light one, inhaling the smoke. Not like it did anything. Frank just liked the feeling of cigarettes. He longed for the tobacco taste he remembered from his time as a human, back when he lived in Italy, with his  _ famiglia,  _ before they had boarded that damn ship.

 

Maybe, just maybe, if he had begged the man who had made him vampire to also turn his family, just to spare them from a watery grave, he wouldn’t be so lonely. 

 

But then again, all things considering, he knew  _ Papa  _ wouldn’t have been so welcoming of the changes each of the decades had brought to the United States. 

 

Frank smiles, remember his father’s stubbornness and set ways, how he even condemned the ship for being “too progressive” as they had boarded.

 

And his heart ached just to hear his father speak again, even if it was ill of everyone and everything.

 

Frank shakes his head, hoping to clear his mind of the intrusive and painful memories. It didn’t do to dwell on the past.

 

A sudden patter of feet slamming against pavement further yanks him out of his inflection, his fangs unsheathing themselves, preparing for an attack, his head turning to find the source of the noise. 

Frank sighs, exasperated, as he sees Gerard running up behind him, panting and out of breath. His fangs slide back into their place, and he turns his body to face Gerard, who stops short and leans over, trying to steady his breathing.

 

“What do you want, Gerard?” Frank says, flicking his cigarette off to the side and tapping his foot impatiently.

 

Gerard holds up a finger, his breath steady, and he looks up, smiling. “Did you think I’d let you go so easy?”

 

Frank rolls his eyes. “You seemed content with being bitten by another, so what would’ve been the point of sticking around?” Frank shoves his hands in his pockets, avoiding Gerard’s piercing gaze. “Plus, I wasn’t having fun anyhow.”

 

“Oh, psh. You seemed to be having fun with me.” Gerard flips his hair, pulling out his own pack of cigarettes and lighting one. “Can I accompany you home?” he says, speaking through the side of his mouth.

 

Frank eyes Gerard’s neck, looking for any bite marks, because he’ll be damned if he takes home another vampire’s human. When he sees none, he smirks.

 

“If you make it that far. I live by Central Park.” Frank says, and Gerard’s eyes widen.

 

“Jesus.” Gerard looks behind him, and scratches his head, possibly contemplating going back to the club instead of walking even further. Frank resists the urge to laugh.

 

“Fuck it.” Gerard turns and chuckles nervously. “Let’s see how far I make it, huh?”

 

Frank laughs.  _ “Vedremo, piccola stella,” _ he mumbles, and Gerard looks at him, confused.

 

“What’s that?” 

 

“I said, ‘we will see, little star,’” Frank explains, continuing to walk, Gerard right beside him.

 

“What language is that?” Gerard inquires, and Frank smiles ruefully. 

 

“Italian.”

 

“Oh. Why are you speaking Italian?”

 

“Because I was born and raised in Italy.” Frank replies, a bitter edge to his voice as memories of the little cottage he was born and raised in resurface.

 

“How long ago was that?”

 

“How long ago was what?”

 

“You living in Italy. How long ago did you live in Italy?”

 

“Over a hundred years ago. We left there when I was only twenty years old to go live in England for two years, until 1912.”

 

“Jesus, so you are old.”

 

“One hundred and twenty six, will be one hundred and twenty seven come this Halloween.” Frank chuckled, kicking at a stray pebble on the sidewalk.

 

“Halloween? You’re born on Halloween?”

 

“Yeah. Mamma used to pray a lot, on my birthdays, because it was a devil’s holiday.” Frank laughs. “I used to think I was some unholy and evil child because of the day I was born on.”

 

Gerard giggles, a high pitched sound, and clears his throat. “So, how did you get over here? To the US, I mean.”

 

Frank sighs. “We-- I mean, I came here on the Titanic.”

 

“Oh… well, shit.” Gerard goes quiet, biting his lip. He looks over at Frank, puzzled. “‘We’?”

 

Frank sighs again. “My family. I lost them. The man who turned me actually saved me from drowning.”

 

“Really?” Gerard looks really interested now. “Tell me more.”

 

Frank shakes his head. “I prefer not to. He’s not a very fond memory.”

 

“Oh.” Gerard is quiet again, staring at the ground.

 

They walk like that for a few minutes, the silence only marred by the occasional siren piercing the night air, and the distant shouts of drunk partiers.

 

Frank clears his throat. “So, Gerard, what about you? Tell me about yourself, because I’m quite curious,  _ dolce passerotto.” _

 

Gerard giggles. “You keep throwing out those Italian words and it’s making me blush, Frank.”

 

Frank laughs. “Sorry. It’s a habit of mine.” Frank shrugs sheepishly, pausing at the corner of the street to let a cab pass. “After all, I am Italian.”

 

“I get it. Wanna know something?” Gerard smiles, and Frank nods.

 

“Sure.”

 

“I speak French.”

 

Frank chuckles. “Let’s hear it!”

 

Gerard frowns, but clears his throat, pausing just before speaking. 

 

_ “Bonjour, mon nom est Gerard, et vous êtes Frank,”  _ Gerard says, slowly but confidently.

 

Frank just smiles and claps. “Sounds  _ magnifico, _ Gerard.”

 

Gerard blushes, waving away Frank’s applause. “Nah. I usually don’t speak it around anyone, because people like to call me a know-it-all.” Gerard sighs. “I try not to let it bother me, but it does.”

 

Frank tsks. “Ah, but intelligence isn’t something to be scared of sharing. By God, if you’re smart, then let it show. Screw what those fools say.” Frank stops walking, and turns to Gerard, taking both of his hands in his own. “Don’t let anyone tell you that being smart is something to be ashamed of.” 

 

Gerard nods, and looks down at where their hands are joined. He blushes and slips his hands out of Frank’s grasp, shoving them back into his coat pockets and turning to walk again. 

 

“I’ll take note of that.” Gerard mumbles, sniffing a little from the cold air.

 

Frank giggles, a squeaky, beautiful sound. “Are you actually  _ blushing, passerotto?  _ Did I make you, who tried to seduce me with his antics not but twenty minutes ago, blush?” Frank’s giggle transforms into a full bellied laugh, and Gerard’s face just becomes redder.

 

“No,” Gerard says, too quickly, and that only serves to make Frank laugh harder.

 

_ “Mi fai ridere, piuttosto,”  _ Frank says after a few minutes, still smiling.

 

Gerard just looks at him, puzzled. Frank sighs and explains. 

 

“I said that you make me laugh, pretty.” 

 

“Oh.” Gerard, whose face had gone back to its naturally pale state, began to resume the blush he wore a minute ago. “‘Pretty’?”

 

“Force of habit.” Frank says, and Gerard’s face falls just the slightest bit, and Frank hurries to explain. “Not that you’re not pretty, because you are!”

 

“You think so?”

 

“I know so.” 

 

Silence again, the only sound being the scratch of the sidewalk underneath the pair’s feet, and the noises of the New York night.

 

Gerard is the first to speak. “Ugh, my legs are starting to hurt.” He stops, and Frank does too, watching Gerard shift uncomfortably, trying to soothe the ache in his legs.

 

Frank actually feels sympathetic for the human, and he smirks. “How can we fix this, I wonder?” Frank taps his finger against his chin in mock contemplation, before shooting Gerard a silly grin. 

  
“Are you afraid of heights?”


	2. Flying

“No, not particularly,” Gerard answers, looking quite nervous. “Why do you ask?”

 

“Well, being a vampire has its advantages, especially if you’re as old as I am,” Frank replies, his grin only getting bigger as he snakes an arm around Gerard’s soft middle. “And one of those advantages is the magnificent ability to, well, fly.”

 

Gerard looks confused for a brief moment, before his mouth pops open.  _ “Oh.” _

 

Frank nods. “You up for it,  _ passerotto?”  _

 

Gerard bites his lip, thinking long and hard about whether he should be flying off into the air with a vampire he just met. 

 

“Fuck it.” Gerard declares, and Frank smiles, gripping Gerard tight, close to his body.

 

“Holy fuck, you’re cold,” Gerard yelps, and Frank laughs.

 

“Well, yeah, I’m fucking dead, so I would be cold, Gerard,” Frank responds, voice dripping heavily with sarcasm.

 

“Oh ha ha ha,” Gerard scowls. “So how does this flying thing work?”

 

Frank chuckles. “You just hold on tight to me and try not to fall off.” And with that, Frank concentrates really hard, his body vibrating, and Gerard gasps as the pair begins levitating before flying up into the sky.

 

Gerard clings tighter to Frank, who just laughs. “I take it you’ve never been this high in the air before?”

 

Gerard just glares. “Obviously not.” Gerard cranes his neck, looking down and breathing heavily, before whipping his head back to face Frank. “What a silly question.” 

 

“Hey, I’m just trying to make small talk,” Frank grins, and maneuvers them so that their bodies are positioned horizontally, trying to make it possible for him to see while flying.

 

“Hold tight,” Frank mutters, and Gerard only whimpers in response, wrapping his legs around Frank’s middle, his arms in a tight vise like grip around the vampire’s neck.

 

Frank just laughs as they move, zooming through the night sky, the cold air biting at Gerard’s cheeks.

 

“I thought vampires sprouted wings when they flew,” Gerard yelled over the roar of the wind, and Frank smiles.

 

“Shows how little you know about vampires,” Frank yells back, and Gerard nods.

 

“I guess,” Gerard shudders.  _ “Merde, _ it’s cold!”

 

“What does ‘merde’ mean?” Frank asks, ignoring Gerard’s complaint.

 

“It’s like the French word for ‘fuck’,” Gerard explains, and Frank nods, as if in approval.

 

“Nice.” Frank looks down at Gerard. “Wanna know the Italian word for fuck?”

 

“Sure.”

 

_ “Fanculo,” _ Frank says. 

 

“‘Fanculo’?” Gerard asks, unsure if he said the word correctly. Judging from Frank’s encouraging smile, he did.

 

“That’s it.” Frank focuses on his speed, slowing down as he nears his apartment. “Ah, home sweet home.” 

 

Gerard tries to look down, but nearly slips in his grasp on Frank’s neck. “Holy shit!”

 

Frank grabs onto Gerard before he can fall to his demise. “Jesus, be careful!” He aims himself towards the balcony outside his apartment, landing gracefully, Gerard’s feet touching the cement of the patio.

 

“Well.” Frank moves past Gerard, opening the balcony doors to his modest, light tight apartment. “This is where I live.”

 

“You live in vampire-sanctioned housing?” Gerard inquires, following Frank into the dark apartment.

 

“It’s the only kind that provides me with what I need to survive.” Frank explains, making his way towards the small kitchenette and opening the fridge to pull out a bottle of blood. “Not like I would need it, considering the man who made me left me a large amount of money.”

 

“Is he not around anymore?” Gerard presses, settling himself on the small couch, watching Frank.

 

There’s a pause. “Technically, no.” Frank pauses again to open the bottle. “Well, I mean, I haven’t seen him in over fifty years, so I don’t know for sure if he’s alive or not.” Frank sits down beside Gerard and takes a swig of the blood.

 

Gerard watches him drink with morbid interest, noticing that Frank’s fangs pop out automatically, although they would not be finding purchase within flesh anytime soon. He also notices Frank’s eyes flash a deep, crimson red, the hazel returning after a few moments. 

 

Gerard had never really seen a vampire feed, so he studies Frank like a little science project, watching him drink half the bottle before their eyes meet. 

 

“Is-- is this as awkward for you as it is for me?” Frank mutters, his eyes never leaving Gerard’s. 

 

Gerard shakes his head, trying to snap out of his staring. “I’m- I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen a vampire-- you know,  _ feed.” _

 

Frank laughs bitterly. “You actually find my drinking of blood to be interesting? How deliciously morbid of you.” Frank sighs and leans back into the couch, his eyes facing the ceiling.

 

“Sometimes I hate being a vampire. Not because of the fact that I have to drink blood in order to survive, but because I can’t walk in the daylight anymore.” Frank closes his eyes, trying to remember the way the sun felt on his skin, the warmth, the burn, maybe even the light. 

 

Back when he had lived in Italy, the hillside on which his family resided got lots of sun. Plenty of sun, matter of fact. Frank remembers how he used to play in the grassy field next to the house with his five sisters: Isabella, Jessella, Bethany, Angeline, and Christine. 

 

Frank smiles, getting lost in his memories until he feels his arm being shaken. 

 

“Frank? Frank?” Gerard says, sighing in relief when Frank opens his eyes. “I thought I lost you.”

 

Frank just laughs. “I’m dead already, Gerard, how could you lose me?” Frank gets up to dispose of the empty bottle he had been clutching in his hand. 

 

“Hm. I guess you’re right.” Gerard follows him, leaning against the small counter, and Frank settles himself across from him, on top of the small table. “What were you doing? Sleeping?”

 

Frank shakes his head. “No. Just thinking about my family is all.” 

 

“Do you think about them a lot?” Gerard says quietly, scratching his nose.

  
Frank feels a slight pang of longing, and shakes his head. “I don’t allow myself to, but lately it just seems that they’re all I think about…”


	3. Before The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I haven't updated in a while!  
> Also, Rev Rad dropped and I am EXTREMELY HAPPY

Southern Italy, 1909

 

Frank watched as his younger sister Isabella played in the field with her twin, Bethany. Their frolicing always brought a smile to his face, because they were young, and were not aware of the ways of the world.

 

Frank envied them sometimes for that reason. Here he was, nineteen years old, and he longed to not have a care in the world. He wished to be like his sisters: playing in the golden field, in their land of make-believe. 

 

He wished he didn’t have to share the burden of feeding his family. He wished he didn’t have to work for the rich white man, who came by occasionally to collect the growing debt his father had accumulated. He wished he could be like other young men his age: finding a beautiful woman to settle down with, or maybe even travel the world, go to America.

 

A hand on his shoulder stirred him from his bitter thoughts, and he turned to see his mother, a kind smile on her face.

 

“Frank,” his mother murmured, her eyes laden with a hidden sadness. “Fetch your sisters, it’s time to eat.”

 

Frank nodded, and turned his attention to his sisters, and whistled loudly.

 

They stopped their playing, and hurriedly rushed towards the small cottage, out of breath and smiling.

 

_ “ _ Mamma _ , _ what have you made today?” Bethany asked, and Mamma just smiled. 

 

“Potatoes, my dear, and your father managed to acquire some bread for us to go along with it.” The sadness seemed to fill her eyes again; the young girls didn't catch it, but Frank did.

 

Mamma turned to Frank, her plastered smile making an appearance again. “Would you go find your older sisters, please?”

 

“Mamma, Jessella is  _ not _ older than me.” Frank muttered, and Mamma shot him an annoyed look.

 

“Francesco, Jessella is but an hour older than you.” Mamma said sternly, turning back to the table and setting the steaming bowl of potatoes on the top, wiping her hands on her apron Frank scowled at the use of his full name, but when Mamma turned around, he wiped the frown off his face. “Now go, _il mio passero,_ and find them, please? They’re more than likely in the shed, tending the cows.”

 

Frank rolled his eyes at the nickname his mother loved to call him, but found his feet moving out the door and towards the shed, searching for his three sisters.

 

He found Christine and Angeline first, the two women trying to pick up a small yet sturdy bale of hay, but even with their combined strength, they still bowed under its weight. Frank chuckled and stepped forward, lifting it up and Christine looked back at him, a smile on her lips.

 

“Look who comes to save the day,” she said jokingly, and Angeline giggled.

 

“Ah, yes, it is I, the lone son in this family of women,” Frank mumbled and both his sisters laugh as they move the bale of hay back into the shed. 

 

Jessella is there, sitting on a stool and milking a cow, and looked up when she saw the three come in. “Oh look who it is, my dear twin  _ Francesco,” _ Jessella muttered out, a snide tone in her voice. The siblings dropped the bale of hay down, and Frank faced his twin.

 

He gritted his teeth.. “Quit calling me ‘Francesco’,  _ Jezebel,” _ Frank spit out, knowing the annoying nickname he designated for his sister grated on her nerves.

 

She scowled and rolled her eyes, but didn’t continue in her teasing of him. “Why have you come out here?” Jessella asked, and Frank sniffed. 

 

“Just to tell you that Mamma says that dinner is ready,” Frank explained, and Jessella sighed, wiping her hands on her apron and getting up, stretching her sore muscles. 

 

“What is it tonight? Potatoes?” Angeline said quietly, and Frank nodded, turning to her.

 

“Yes. Potatoes... and a little bit of bread.” A collective sigh rolled through the group of women, and Frank chuckled.

 

“Thank goodness we have something other than potatoes and milk,” Christine quipped, smoothing out the skirt on her blue dress. “Where did the bread come from?”

 

“Papa. I’m guessing he stole it, if the look on Mamma’s face is any indication,” Frank said bitterly, and Jessella sighed. 

 

“Frank, you give him too much grief. He’s trying to provide for us, you know.” She moved toward him, taking his hand into hers, and looking into his eyes. “Give him the benefit of the doubt, dear brother.” Christine and Angeline murmured their agreement.

 

Frank scoffed, and ripped his hand out of Jessella’s, and glanced at each of them, rage building in the pit of his stomach. “How can you all be so…  _ cieco?!” _

The three women looked at him, bewildered at his outburst.

 

“Blind? What do mean blind?” Jessella said briskly, crossing her arms and tapping her foot. 

 

“Papa doesn’t work. I do. He steals.” Frank confessed, avoiding his sister’s gaze.

 

A quiet settled over the four siblings, before Christine spoke, her voice low and unwavering. “So where does he go during the day, if not to work?”

 

“To drink, to gamble, anything to make him forget about his insurmountable responsibilities at home.” Frank said evenly, his momentary rage boiling down. 

 

His sisters nodded solemnly, and Angeline looked thoughtfully across the yard to the small cottage. 

 

“Does Mamma know?” she asked, her eyes darting back to Frank’s, and she knew her answer the moment they locked eyes.

 

“She knows he steals, but not that he doesn’t work.” Frank explained. “I guess he forgot to mention that part to her.” He kicked a clod of dirt near his feet, and scowled. 

 

Jessella uncrossed her arms and stepped closer to her brother, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. Her hands rested on his shoulders as she looked up at him, concern on her face. 

 

“We can’t tell Mamma. It would break her heart,  _ mio caro fratello.”  _ Jessella murmured, hugging Frank, and Frank leaned into his sister's embrace, wishing he didn’t have to keep such a vital secret from his mother.

 

“I know, Jessella, but… Ugh, think of Isabella and Bethany. They’re only fifteen years old, and they think Papa hung the moon.” Frank mumbled, pulling away from Jessella. “Imagine their heartbreak when they find out our father isn’t the man he claims to be. Their heartbreak would be worse than Mamma’s.”

 

“Yes, Frank, that is true, but… It’s better for them to find out later than now. Once they’re older, they’ll realize who the true provider was: You.” Angeline said, and Frank shrugged.

 

“I doubt it. Papa will feed them lies; it's an inevitable truth.”

 

Christine stepped forward, placing a small, delicate hand on her younger brother’s arm. “Have faith, Frank.”

 

Frank could only nod in response, and took Christine’s hand in his own, sighing. “Come. We've no doubt kept Mamma waiting for far too long.”

  
Christine nodded and glanced to her sisters, who both nodded as well, following her and Frank back to the cottage.


	4. Emotions

New York City, New York

Present Day

 

"Lately?" Gerard asks, jumping off the countertop, walking towards the vampire opposite him.

 

Frank's attention snaps to the present as the boy walks towards him. "Yeah." A stray tear falls down Frank's cold cheek, and Gerard wipes it away.

 

"You can cry." It wasn't a question, but a statement, and Frank nods, sniffing.

 

"Yes, vampires occasionally cry, although we don't do it very often." Frank explains, clearing his throat and hopping down from his position on top of the table and avoiding Gerard's gaze.

 

"We find that showing emotion is a form of... weakness."

 

"I didn't think vampires had any emotions," Gerard says, following Frank back into the small living room.

 

"Most don't, especially the older ones, the ones older than me. I guess it just depends on whether they choose to maintain the last bits of their humanity after they are, erm, changed." Frank sits down on the sofa, kicking his feet up. "I kept mine because I couldn't get over the monster I became."

 

"Monster?" Gerard says, as if the idea of Frank being any sort of monster was utterly impossible.

 

“Yes.” Frank pats the cushion next to him and Gerard settles himself down, locking eyes with Frank. “I hated that I had been changed into something… unhuman. Monstrous. An abomination.”

 

Gerard shakes his head, his long black tresses flowing from the movement. “I personally think becoming a vampire isn’t something to be so ashamed of. I’ve always admired them, especially when my mother used to tell stories about them when I was a child. You know, shortly after the entire vampire race had made themselves known.”

 

Frank chuckles, reaching out a hand to tuck a stray hair behind Gerard’s ear, but stops himself halfway. He lets his hand fall back onto his lap before smiling meekly. “You mother, is she fond of vampires?”

 

Gerard smiles. “Very fond of them. She used to tell my brother Mikey and I that if we ever dated a vampire, that she would be one-hundred percent supportive.”

 

“You have a brother?” Frank asks, and Gerard nods. “Is he older? Younger?”

 

Gerard suddenly looks away, and picks at his nails. “Mikey… Mikey is… well… Mikey is like you.”

 

Frank looks confused for a moment, before it dawns on him. “He’s vampire?”

 

Gerard nods, still not looking at Frank. “Yes. He has been for three years.” Gerard stops his picking and glances at Frank. “He was turned when he was seventeen.”

 

“By who?”

 

Gerard’s mouth tightens in a hard line. “Um. Well… He never really told us, because he really doesn’t know who did it himself.”

 

Frank’s eyebrows knit together in confusion yet again. “Was he forced against his will?”

 

“We don’t know. You see,” Gerard pauses, tucking a strand of inky black hair behind the delicate curve of his ear, “Mikey had a friend, Pete, who used to party a lot. Vampire clubs, anywhere really. He was careless, and one night, Pete took Mikey out with him, and he didn’t come home.” Gerard inhales, and continues. “He came back two nights later, dazed and confused, and paler than before. We didn’t know that he had been turned until he drained the cat.”

 

Frank bites back a laugh, and Gerard raises an eyebrow at him. “You think that’s funny?”

 

Frank shakes his head but a small giggle leaves his lips. “I know I shouldn’t be laughing but… He came back, dazed and confused, and a little bit paler than usual, and you only entertained the thought that he had been turned when he _drained the cat?”_

 

A smiles tugs at the corner of Gerard’s lips, before he bursts out into full blown giggles. “Now that you put it that way, it is kind of funny…”

 

Frank nods, and laughs, a throaty, ringing sound. Gerard joins in, unable to control the peals of laughter bubbling within his throat.

 

They sit there, laughing for a good solid five minutes before they quiet down, a weird yet pleasant silence settling over the two.

 

Frank breaks the silence. “So, if he was turned because he partied a lot and put himself in situations like that, why are you doing it?”

 

Gerard’s smile falters, and he begins fidgeting again. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m hoping to find the vampire that turned my little brother. Or maybe…” He trails off, mumbling something under his breath.

 

“Maybe what?” Frank inquires, and Gerard looks at him.

 

“Maybe I have a death wish. Maybe I want to be a vampire just like Mikey.” Gerard gets up and walks to the balcony, looking down at the street below.

 

“Mikey lost so much because of a mistake. He wanted a family, you know. He wanted a career. He wanted a life in the sun.” Gerard pauses before looking back at Frank, who just watches him in interest.

 

“And he can’t have that now.”

 

“So if you know exactly what Mikey has lost, why do you wish the same thing for yourself?”

 

Gerard bites his lip and turns back, facing the night.

 

“Because I never wanted those things. I never wanted a family, I never wanted a life in the sun. The only career I had going for me was to become a bitter artist who never left his house and who would come to resent the world and all who stand for it.”

 

Frank gets up and joins Gerard on the balcony, taking his hand gently.

 

“Listen to me, _passerotto._ The way you feel, it will change. You may wake up tomorrow still feeling the same way, but you never know. Four, five years down the road, you may meet the most beautiful person ever, and you’ll want to have a life with them. How can you ever get that chance if you choose now to live in the darkness for all eternity?” Frank tips Gerard’s face up so that their eyes meet, and he takes an unnecessary breath.

 

“If you knew what it was like, for one moment, firsthand, to live in the shadows, you wouldn’t wish to do the same.”

 

Gerard doesn’t speak; he only stares at Frank. The only sound that can be heard is the fast beating of Gerard’s heart, no doubt from being so close to the vampire.

 

“How can it be any different from the way I’m living now?”


	5. Perfectly and Insurmountably Fucked

New York City, New York

 

Three Years Ago

 

Gerard waited at the stoplight, watching the passing cars speed by, lost in his own thoughts. He had gotten his end of term grades from the college and he wasn’t too happy about them.

 

A “D”. He had gotten a D in his Intro To Painting class. How could he have let that happen?

 

Well, considering all that had been happening with Mikey and Pete, it was no surprise. Mom’s health had been shaky these past few weeks, and it was up to Gerard to watch over Mikey and, regrettably, his friend Pete.

 

Gerard didn’t really have a problem with Pete as a person, no, but he did have a problem with Pete in regards to his actions. In Gerard’s eyes, Pete was a bad influence over Mikey, what with the partying and the drugs. And it didn’t help matters that Mom had said that Pete could stay with the Ways for as long as he liked.

 

Not to mention, Mikey was a relatively good kid and all, but when he was with Pete, he became an entirely different person. Maybe it was because Mikey was a lonely kid, stuck in his last year of school, his only friend being Pete, but Gerard knew early on that Mikey was destined for greater things, greater than the lifestyle Pete was showing him.

 

But at this point in time, all Gerard could see for Mikey was his premature death. Gerard could beg and plead all he wanted, but no matter what he did, Mikey still ran off with Pete, and all Gerard could do was worry if the next time he saw his little brother, he’d be dead or alive.

 

_Funny how I wish I could be a regular nineteen year old, instead I’m stuck watching my baby brother and his delinquent friend._

 

A sudden beep behind him brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see that the light was green. Mumbling a small curse, Gerard hit the gas and sped across the intersection, praying to God that there wasn’t a cop anywhere near him as he ran a stop sign.

 

Lo and behold, there was. And he was right behind him, lights blaring and all.

 

“Fuck.” Gerard growled, hitting the steering wheel with the palm of his hand and quickly pulling over. “Just my absolute fucking luck!”

 

The cop emerged from his car and Gerard rolled down the window, the cold, February night air hitting him like a bus.

 

The cop finally arrived at the window and cleared his throat. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

 

Gerard sighed and looked up at the officer. “I ran that stop sign.”

 

The cop nodded. “Yes. Can I see your license and registration?”

 

Gerard sighed again and dug into his back pocket and pulled out his ID, and reached over the console into the dashboard drawer and took out the registration, and handed both to the officer.

 

He gasped when he felt how cold the officers hands were and looked up at him, a smile spread on his face.

 

“How long you been a vampire?” Gerard asked, and the cop smirked.

 

“What gave it away?”

 

“Your hands. They’re really cold.”

 

The officer chuckled and leaned down. “Only about a few months.”

 

Gerard nodded. “I see. How are you adjusting?”

 

“Exceptionally well. My girlfriend is a vampire, and she tells me that for someone so young, I’m quite controlled.”

 

Gerard laughed. “That’s always good isn’t it?”

 

The cop nodded. “Yeah.” He straightened up, and cleared his throat. “I’ll be back with your stuff. Give me a moment.” And he walked back to his cruiser.

 

Gerard smiled as he watched the cop leave. He always had a fondness for vampires, and seeing one working a good job always made him happy. Gerard always thought that it showed how progressed society had become since vampires had made themselves known.

 

A tapping on his window interrupted his thoughts and he rolled it down, the vampire cop handing him his things.

 

“You have a good day sir, and please, don’t run any stop signs, okay?”

 

Gerard nodded and tucked his ID back into his wallet. “Gotcha. Thank you.”

 

The officer tipped his hat and left, getting back into his car and leaving.

 

Gerard pulled out of his spot on the side of the road, and continued on his way home.

 

**********

 

“Mom, I’m home!” Gerard called out from the doorway, slamming the door behind him and chucking his keys in the dish by the door.

 

“Gerard? How was your day?” Donna, his mother, called from the living room, and Gerard smiled. Her voice sounded clearer.

 

“It was okay, I guess. Got my grades for the semester today.” Gerard said as he entered the living room, plopping down on the couch beside his mother, who seemed to be watching some reality TV show.

 

“Really? How are you doing?” Donna said, turning to her son and giving him a hug and kiss on his cheek, much to Gerard’s chagrin.

 

“Um… Great, actually.” Gerard lied through his teeth; he’d be damned if he told his mother the truth. He didn’t want her thinking that she was the cause of his failing grades.

 

“That’s good!” Donna beamed at him, tucking a hair behind his ear. “I’m glad you’re doing so well, honey. I know art is your passion, and I want you to pursue it.”

 

Gerard nodded and gave his mother a hug before standing up, clearing his throat. “Mikey home?”

 

Donna nodded and gestured upstairs, and Gerard left the living room, climbing the stairs and stopping in front of Mikey’s room.

 

He knocked three times until he heard a faint “Come in!”, and opened the door.

 

Mikey was lounging on his bed, his laptop on his stomach, one earbud in. “Whatcha want, loser?”

 

Gerard rolled his eyes and sat on the edge of the bed. “Nothing really, egghead. Just wanted to see what you were doing.”

 

Mikey sat up and tapped the keyboard, pausing his music. “You’re nosy, you know that?” He tapped the keyboard, his music blaring again.

 

“Mhm. Where’s Pete?”

 

Mikey’s eyes narrowed as he tapped the keyboard again. “Why do you want to know?”

 

Gerard shrugged. “Nothing. Just wondering where he is.”

 

Mikey searched Gerard’s eyes for any treachery. He saw none. “He’s at Joe’s. He had to drop something off. He’ll be back soon.” Mikey turned his attention back to his computer screen, and Gerard sighed.

 

“Dropping off drugs, you mean?” Gerard mumbled, and Mikey nodded absentmindedly.

 

“Great. Does he have any other _amazing_ talents?” Gerard spat, and Mikey looked up at him, glaring.

 

“Honestly, Gerard, fuck off if you’re gonna talk about my best friend like that. He does what he needs to get by. If you knew half the shit he has gone through and how he grew up, you’d be more understanding as to why he does the things he does.” Mikey set his laptop aside and got up, stalking toward the doorway to leave.

 

He stopped short and turned his lanky frame back towards Gerard. “And don’t think that for one moment that I approve of all the shit he does, or that I’m turning a blind eye. Because I’m not. I just know that he does what he’s been conditioned to do. Just like you did.” And he turned back and slammed the door.

 

That last sentence stung Gerard. He knew what and who Mikey was talking about. He sighed and got up, opening the door and walking downstairs to the basement, jumping on the bed and sighing once more, before turning over to take a nap.

 

*******

 

A sudden and soft slap to Gerard’s face woke him up, and he sat up quickly, effectively knocking whoever slapped him onto the floor.

 

Gerard looked down the side of the bed and groaned. “Jesus, Pete, what have I told you about waking me up like that?”

 

Pete chuckled and got up, settling himself on the bed. “To not wake you up like that?” He said cheekily, and Gerard rolled his eyes.

 

“Exactly. So why do you continue to do it?”

 

“Because it’s funny. You act like a friggin’ vampire, dude.”

 

Gerard snorted. “I wish I was. That way I could slink off into the night after draining your sorry ass.”

 

Pete laughed. “Hey, that’s a bad stereotype for vampires, you ignorant asshole! I’ll get the VAE to sue you for slander!”

 

Gerard chuckled. “And how exactly are you going to get the Vampire Association for Equality to sue me? You’re human, dumbass.”

 

Pete’s face scrunched up, and turned into a smile. “I’ll figure out a way.” Pete jumped off the bed and walked over to Gerard’s desk, shuffling the papers on there. “These are pretty good, G.”

 

Gerard got off the bed and joined Pete by the desk. “I know. Don’t touch ‘em. You’ll ruin the finish.”

 

Pete sighed and walked towards the door, flicking the light on and off.

 

“Was there anything you needed? Or did you just come down here to be an asshole?” Gerard said, irritated by the seventeen year old’s presence.

 

Pete stopped messing with the light switch and smiled. “Just wanted to tell you that your mom made dinner. And that it’s ready.” And with that, Pete left.

 

Gerard rubbed his temples and ran a hand through his messy hair. Pete was so fucking annoying.

 

Gerard clambered the stairs and made his way to the kitchen, and saw his mom standing by the stove, piling food onto a white plate. She looked wobbly, and Gerard glanced around for her go to chair.

 

Locating it, he placed it behind her at the exact moment her legs gave out, and he caught her arm, gently placing her in the chair.

 

Sighing, he kneeled down beside her. “Mom, why do you over exert yourself? You could’ve just told Mikey to come get me and I’d have cooked for you.”

 

Donna’s lips pursed, and she looked at her oldest son. “I wanted to do it myself.” She said quietly, wringing her hands.

 

Gerard bit his lip and rubbed his mother’s shoulder. “I know. But you know what the doctor said. Even if you’re having a better day, don’t push yourself. You’ll only make it worse.”

 

Donna nodded and smiled at Gerard. “At least I finished.”

 

Gerard returned his mother’s smile. “Yeah. You did.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Ready?”

 

Donna nodded and took Gerard’s hand, and he pulled her up, steadying her. “Can you walk?”

 

Donna nodded again, and took a few tentative steps, leaning into Gerard’s side. He led her to the couch in the living room, where she sat down quickly and sighed, the small distance taking a toll on her.

 

“I’ll be right back, Mom.” Gerard said, walking back into the kitchen and pausing by the sink.

 

It hurt him to see his mother like that, all weak and wobbly. She was only forty, for God’s sake. She should be able to run, walk, even fucking jump.

 

The doctors couldn’t understand why she could barely walk. Why she could never keep certain foods down. Why her blood pressure always fluctuated. Why she, a normal and usually healthy forty year old woman, had the body of a eighty year old.

 

It frustrated Gerard to no end because he loved his mother, and hated seeing her in pain. He could see how defeated she looked, how upset she was because she couldn’t do the things she normally could do for someone her age. It hurt him physically and emotionally. He wanted her healthy and radiant, and he wished he could fix her.

 

And in that sense, Gerard felt helpless. Hopeless, helpless, and angry. Angry at the world for  being so fucked, angry at whatever is making his mother sick, and angry at God for letting it happen. Here he was, a nineteen year old ball of pure and unfettered anger, with no healthy way of channeling it. Sure, the art helped, but he could only take out his frustrations in the form of paint for so long. It showed in his work. Instead of vibrant and pulsating colors, he used dark, depressing and somber ones. The themes of most of his paintings were dark and upsetting. He had so much negative energy, so much that it took up every ounce of his being. He felt it deep in his bones, his skin, his heart.

 

He had been thinking that he should see a therapist again, but he knew it wouldn’t help. There was too much on his plate. His mother, his brother, his schoolwork. He’d have to put it off until the storm cloud passed.

 

But deep down, Gerard knew that this bump in the road wasn’t temporary. It was a never ending road full of potholes and complete fuckery.

 

Gerard sighed and took the plate that sat on the counter, bringing it to his mom. Mikey and Pete sat on the opposite end of the couch, scarfing down their own plates, while watching the T.V.

 

_“And today, the search continues for a man who has gone missing in the Bronx. Twenty four year old Ray Toro disappeared from his home last Saturday, leaving his wife with no answers._

 

_‘Please, Ray, honey, if you can see this, come home. Reach out. Try to find a way to come back. I miss you!’_

 

_Police suspect that Toro was kidnapped late last Saturday by a gang of vampires that have been terrorizing the lower Bronx, taking people from their homes and reportedly draining them and dumping the bodies. There have been four cases in which this has happened, and the NYPD asks that if you see this man, to immediately contact the police department.”_

 

Gerard sighed, turning his attention away from the T.V. He had seen Ray at the college, he was an aide in one of his classes. Gerard had wondered where the man had gone after not seeing him for a week. He had always thought that Ray was a sweet, awesome guy, and he was always helpful. It was a shame that he might be the victim of a few stupid vampires.

 

“I bet you anything he’s dead,” Pete muttered, and Mikey nodded, eating the last remaining bits of his food.

 

“Don’t say that.” Gerard barked, crossing his arms. “Don’t be so quick to think like that.”

 

Pete raised an eyebrow at Gerard, but smirked and finished eating. Gerard wanted so badly to knock the smirk off of Pete’s face, but his mother was in the room, and he’d no doubt get yelled at for punching Pete in the jaw.

 

Mikey stood up and glanced at Pete, who followed suit. “Mom, me and Pete are gonna go out tonight, okay? We shouldn’t be gone too long.”

 

Donna just looked over and nodded. “Don’t go too far, okay? As much as I trust vampires, there are some unsavory ones out at night. Stay away from the Bronx, boys.”

 

Pete nodded. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Way, I’ll make sure we won’t go anywhere near there.”

 

“Okay boys. Have fun.” Donna said, and Mikey and Pete ran out the door, slamming it behind them.

 

Gerard walked over to the window and watched as his little brother left, wondering yet again if the next time he saw him, Mikey would be alive.

 


	6. Friends

New York City, New York

 

Present Day

 

“I can’t imagine your life is much similar to mine, Gerard. You have more opportunities, more experiences. You can’t have half of what you already have if you’re dead.” Frank mutters, and Gerard sighs.

 

“Would it matter? I feel dead already. Empty. Without purpose. My life in itself is a sad thing. I have nothing to show for it.”

 

“You think too much about the negative.” Frank says, leaning over the railing of the balcony. “Try to think of the positive.”

 

Gerard snorts. “Positive? In my life? I’m twenty-one years old. I’m still in college, working towards a dead end degree. My mother is sick. My brother is dead… sort of. I have no friends. Where is the positive in all that?”

 

Frank just stares at Gerard. “In all my years, I have never met anyone as skeptical and critical as you. What could have possibly been so hard for you that you end up like this?”

 

Gerard quiets, and turns away from Frank. “So many things. But I don’t want to talk about them right now.” Gerard walks back into the apartment and glances at the clock above the stove. “I should be going. It’s late.”

 

Frank follows behind him, watching as the young man grabs his coat and walks towards the front door. “I’d like to see you again, Gerard.”

 

Gerard laughs. “Why?”

 

Frank cocks his head to the side. “Because. You intrigue me. I’ve never really met anyone like you before.”

 

Gerard shakes his head but chuckles. “If you want to see me again, just come back to the club. I’m always there.”

 

“I know.” 

 

Gerard pulls on his coat and opens the front door. “I’ll see you around, I guess?”

 

Frank nods. “Of course.”

 

Gerard bites his lip. “Okay. See ya.” And he leaves.

 

Frank sighs and sits on the couch, finding the remote and clicking on the T.V. He doesn’t really watch it, instead using it as background noise while he thinks. 

 

_ Gerard is twenty-one years old. His mother is sick. Brother is dead. No friends. Still in college. Why does he stick out as someone so important to me? I practically just met him, yet I’m so drawn to him. He’s not just some blurry face in a crowd of other unrecognizable, non-memorable faces. He’s different. He has a name. He has a face. He’s somebody.  _

 

_ So why is he a somebody to me? _

 

_ And why is that important? _

 

**********

 

Sizzling.

 

Hot, burning pain.

 

Awful smell.

 

Frank is yanked harshly out of sleep, his arm burning red hot, his fangs bared at the pain. He pounces off the couch in the most comical fashion and slinks into a protective crouch, trying to find the source of the threat that has hurt him.

 

To his relief, the perpetrator is merely the open window to the balcony, letting in sunlight from outside. 

 

Frank sighs and unfurls himself, walking over to the window and shutting it. He must have left it open after Gerard left, forgetting to close it. 

 

He glances down at his arm to see the pale skin splotched a deep, jarring red; blisters and open sores marring the perfectly smooth skin.

 

Muttering, Frank quickly darts into the kitchen and pulls out a bottle of blood from the small fridge and downs it in one gulp, watching as his arm heals and becomes perfect once again. He glances at the clock and realizes it’s only four in the afternoon.

 

“Stupid.” Frank says, discarding of the bottle in the trashcan. He plops back onto the couch and focuses on the T.V., willing himself to fall asleep when there’s a knock on the door.

 

Frank groans and gets up. “What?” He shouts, and opens the door to see a nervous looking Gerard standing there, clad in black pants and a band tee, coupled with a baggy black hoodie. 

 

“Can I come in?”

 

Frank stares, dumbstruck, until Gerard clears his throat. “Um, yeah. Come in.” 

 

“Thanks.”

 

Frank closes the door behind Gerard, who makes himself comfortable on the couch. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

 

“I didn’t expect to be back so soon.” Gerard says, unzipping his hoodie. “But I thought about last night and realized we really didn’t introduce ourselves properly.”

 

Frank laughs and sits beside Gerard. “Alright. Well, I’m Frank Iero.”

 

Gerard chuckles. “I’m Gerard Way. Nice to meet you.” They fall into a small silence.

 

“That was really awkward.” Gerard notes, and Frank smiles.

 

“No, it’s nice to know you have a last name.”

 

“Likewise.”

 

More silence.

 

“Um… Well.”

 

Frank laughs. “Would you like something to drink?”

 

Gerard raises an eyebrow. “Do you even have anything for me to drink?”

 

“No, I was totally planning on giving you a bottle of blood.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Oh relax. I’m just kidding.” Frank gets up and goes to the kitchen, pulling out a can of soda. “They give us these just in case we have human company.”

 

“What? Seriously? Wish my apartment complex accommodated me like that.” Gerard takes the can of soda and opens it, taking a drink. “This is good. Wish I was a vampire.”

 

Frank grimaces. “No, you don’t.”

 

“Ah, but see, that’s where you’re wrong, dear Frank. Vampires are cool.”

 

“Yeah, well, you should’ve seen my arm not but five minutes ago. That wasn’t ‘cool’ at all.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Frank frowns. “Left the window open. Sunlight hit my arm. It was nasty, I assure you.”

 

“Hm.” Gerard sips his can, glancing at the T.V. “What are you watching?”

 

Frank looks at the T.V. as well. “Nothing, really. I just put it on for background noise. There’s really nothing on T.V. that interests me. I don’t even watch the news.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I see so much about vampire violence it sickens me. Reminds me of what I could be, of what I am deep down.”

 

Gerard chuckles ruefully. “Classic.”

 

Frank looks at him, eyebrows raised. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Gerard clear his throat and turns to Frank. “The whole tortured vampire routine. You’re the first vampire I’ve met that absolutely resents what he is. Wishes he were dead, or that he didn’t exist at all. It paints such a mysterious quality about you that gives me no choice but to be drawn in. You read like an Anne Rice novel. Or some campy teen romance.”

 

“Oh?” Frank smirks. “And where does that put you? A hormonal, self destructive young adult who seeks out the things that are bad for him, hoping that once and for all, he’ll find something that gives his miserable life meaning?”

 

“Ooh. You hit it right on the head. And I suppose that we’ll lead a whirlwind romance, ending in destruction of the both of us? Something so tragic, that it paints a cautionary tale?”

 

Frank laughs. “Who said anything about romance? I’ve just met you.”

 

“True. But if we were in some sort of universe where we followed the laws of books, it would be inevitable.”

 

“But I merely regard you as a friend.”

 

“You weren’t so eager to regard me as that when I was grinding against you last night.”

 

“That is also true. But then again, I’ve never been one for one night stands.”

 

“Came pretty close last night.”

 

Frank laughs again. “You are quite blunt, you know that?”

 

“So I’ve been told.”

 

“Ah. You interest me, Gerard Way.”

 

“And you interest me, Frank Iero.” Gerard finishes the last of his can and gets up to throw it away. “I should go. I just came by to re-introduce myself and over-extend my welcome.” 

 

Frank giggles. “No, please, it was a pleasure.” He follows Gerard to the door and opens it.

 

“Frank?”

 

“Mm?”

 

“If you want, meet me at the subway entrance by the coffee place on Fifth at seven sharp.” Gerard says, standing outside the door.

 

“Hm. I’ll think about it.”

 

“Don’t think about it for too long.” And with that, Gerard leaves.

 

Frank closes the door and smiles.  _ Hm. This is the most fun I’ve had in awhile. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally did not mean to break the fourth wall.  
> Basically in this AU, vampire lore and an assortment of vampire fiction (i.e. the Buffy series, The Vampire Chronicles, The Sookie Stackhouse novels, and god forbid even the Twilight saga) that is in our world, also exists in this AU. And everyone is aware of these vampire books, but no one really knows the extent of vampires and their weaknesses, strengths, even their origins or how they're made. Even after twenty some odd years, the rest of the human race still has yet to figure out the true lore of vampires, because they are very secretive about those things.
> 
> So essentially, Frank and Gerard are poking fun at these cliches in vampire romances, as if they are predetermining their own fates.  
> Hope that clears anything up!


	7. An Immortal Way

Gerard paces by the entrance, looking left and right for the vampire, even daring to look up at the dark sky for any sign of Frank. 

 

He sighs, glancing at his wristwatch, both hands on the seven.  _ He’s not going to show. This was so stupid. Why would I think for one moment he would come? _

 

Just as he is about to turn and head down into the subway, a cold hand touches his shoulder. Gerard gasps and turns around, rolling his eyes when he sees it’s Frank.

 

“What took you so long?” Gerard mutters, walking down the steps, Frank by his side.

 

“I’m only a second late.” Frank says, smirking.

 

“Almost a second too late. Thought you stood me up.” Gerard says, placing his hands in his pockets. He stops on the platform, waiting for the next subway car to come by.

 

“Francesco Anthony Iero does not stand anyone up. It’s rude.” Frank says, looking both ways on the subway platform, and noticing that half of the people there are not remotely human. The sharp, ammonia like scent of fellow vampires pierces Frank’s nose, imperceptible to Gerard’s human senses.

 

“‘Francesco’? Oh man, you would’ve gotten bullied in school for a name like that.” Gerard chuckles, and Frank narrows his eyes.

 

“Jessella, my sister, used to tease me relentlessly about my name.” Frank sniffs. “It took me the longest amount of time to embrace it.”

 

Gerard giggles. “And how long was that?”

 

Frank’s mouth curls into a smile. “Give or take fifty years.” 

 

A laugh from behind the two startles Frank, and they both turn around to see a tall vampire with choppy brown hair and a snarky grin. 

 

Gerard gasps. “Mikey! I didn’t expect you to be here.”

 

The vampire, Mikey, just turns to Gerard. “Yeah, well, I went to go visit Pete and his girlfriend. What’re you doing here?”

 

Gerard turns a deep shade of red. “I’m just hanging out with Frank.”

 

Mikey’s grin grows bigger.  _ “The _ Frank? As in Frank Iero? The one you won’t shut up about?”

 

Gerard by now is cherry red, and Frank has to resist the urge to laugh. “Fuck  _ off, _ Michael.”

 

“Ooh, using my name. Scary.” Mikey holds out his hand to Frank. “I’m Mikey Way, Gerard’s little brother.”

 

“Yeah, annoying little brother.” Gerard murmurs.

 

Frank just laughs and shakes Mikey’s hand. “I’m Frank Iero, Gerard’s friend.”

 

“Nice to finally meet you.” Mikey steps forward and slings his arm around his brother’s shoulder, Gerard flinching from the cold. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

 

Frank looks curiously at Gerard, who just grimaces. “Oh?”

 

“Mhm.  _ So _ much.” Mikey steps away from Gerard and smiles when his brother shoots him a death glare. “I think I should be going. It was nice meeting you, Frank.”

 

“Nice to meet you too.” Frank says, and Mikey mock bows, and disappears in a blur.

 

“I hate it when he does that.” Gerard says, facing forward again, taking his hands out of his pockets and rubbing them together.

 

Frank is still smiling. “What have you told him about me?”

 

Gerard blushes again. “Fuck. Um. Nothing, really.” Gerard’s voice breaks mid-sentence, and Frank laughs.

 

“Oh really? Then why are you redder than a tomato?”

 

“Nngh. I may… havetoldhimthatIfindyouhandsome.” Gerard rambles, and if Frank didn’t have excellent vampire hearing, he may not have caught what Gerard said.

 

“You told him you find me handsome?” Frank laughs, and Gerard turns a blood red. 

 

“Oh my god. This is so mortifying.” Gerard mumbles, inhaling deeply. 

 

Frank on the other hand, is laughing wholeheartedly, taking in Gerard’s embarrassed face.

 

“Shut the fuck up Frank, oh my  _ god,” _ Gerard half giggles, and that only serves to make Frank laugh harder, attracting the attention of several commuters.

 

Frank tries to stifle his laughter but ultimately fails, and Gerard joins in along with him, not caring anymore that people (and vampires) are watching them, some scared, some amused, others not caring at all.

 

It isn’t until the sudden gust of wind from the subway train hits Frank that he stops laughing, tugging on Gerard’s sleeve as the doors slide open. 

 

“Come on. Isn’t this the train we are waiting for?”

 

Gerard nods and gestures forward. “After you.”

 

Frank steps onto the train and plops down on an empty seat close to the doors, Gerard sitting right next to him, a bemused grin on his face.

 

“What are you smiling about?” Frank asks, and Gerard’s grin only widens.

 

“I’m thinking that you’re old enough to remember when the first subway train was used.”

 

Frank chuckles. “Must you point out my immortal age? I’m twenty two years old at heart, Gerard.”

 

That last part makes Gerard giggle. “Okay. Whatever you say, old man.”

 

Frank just rolls his eyes. “I don’t usually ride the subway. I prefer to fly or walk. Vampires have no use for cars or trains or buses.”

 

“Well, us humans require such things to get around. Not all of us have the ability to fly.”

 

“Hm.” 

  
Gerard settles into a comfortable silence, sinking in as best as he can into the plastic seat. Gerard, no doubt, rides the subway quite often from the looks of it. But for Frank, it’s been twenty-five years since he’s ridden on the subway, and he feels a sense of painful nostalgia creep over him.


	8. An Unexpected Surprise

“Gerard, where exactly are we going?” Frank mutters to the excited young man, who is tugging him along out of the subway station. “We rode the subway for over an hour. Where are we going?”

 

“Shh.” Gerard hushes, looking back and grinning at the confused vampire. “You’ll see.” He drops Frank’s hand and steps out onto the curb of the street, trying to hail a taxi. He manages to grab one quite quickly, all things considering.

 

Frank grimaces. He doesn’t like taking taxis. With his vampire nose, he’s able to smell every sort of mess that has ever happened in one: sex, puke, and other things. Occasionally the scent of blood would appear, and those car rides would be complete torture.

 

“Must we take a taxi?” Frank whines, and Gerard raises an eyebrow.

 

“Are you actually  _ whining?” _ Gerard accuses, and Frank sets his mouth in a tight line.

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“Liar.”

 

“Fine. Yes, I am whining.”

 

“Oh, suck it up, buttercup. We’re taking a taxi.”

 

Frank grumbles but gets into the cab anyway. He looks forward and sees a balding man in his late forties is the driver. 

 

“Where to, kids?”

 

Gerard leans forward and hands the man a slip of paper. “Here, please.”

 

The driver stares at it and nods.

 

Frank shoots Gerard a look. “You aren’t going to tell me where we’re going, are you?”

 

Gerard just giggles. “Hell no. That’s all part of the surprise, dear Frank.”

 

Frank just grumbles and settles into the seat, facing the window. 

 

The car ride there is long and quiet; Frank passes the time by drumming his fingers against his leg and whistling, occasionally glancing at Gerard who constantly bites his lip and fiddles with his fingers nervously.

 

Frank stops his drumming and clears his throat. “Something on your mind, Gerard?”

 

Gerard just shakes his head. “No, not really.”

 

Frank raises an eyebrow. “Don’t lie to me,  _ passerotto.” _

 

Gerard chuckles. “So you’re reverting back to Italian now, are you?”

 

“I use it when the mood takes me.”

 

Gerard rolls his eyes. “I don’t understand you, Frank Iero. You puzzle me.”

 

Frank laughs and stares out the window at the passing lights, noticing that with each mile and turn most of the streetlamps become fewer and fewer.

 

The cab finally stops in what looks like an industrial district, and Gerard leans forward and hands the cabbie some money.

 

“Thanks man,” Gerard mutters to the cab driver, who grunts, and Gerard motions for Frank to get out of the cab, doing so himself.

 

When they both shut their doors and the taxi takes off, Gerard clears his throat and walks off towards a dimly lit area.

 

Frank becomes suspicious, wondering if he’s been led into a trap, so he lingers behind and watches Gerard walk into the shadows.

 

Gerard’s footsteps stop when he doesn’t feel Frank’s presence behind him, and turns around. “Frank? What are you doing? Come on!” Gerard says, walking back to Frank and taking him by the hand, and Frank quickly smells the air, catching the lingering scent of humans, along with what seems to be a different, more… animal scent, so to say. Frank had never smelled it in his one hundred and twenty six years, and it was strong, which meant that whatever it was, it was still around.

 

He wanted to ask Gerard what that smell was, but he doubted that Gerard’s human nose would even pick up on the scent.

 

Frank considers flying all the way back to his apartment, but decides against it. If anything was to attack him, he could overpower it, since he is over a hundred years old. 

 

And trained in combat.

 

Sighing, Frank reluctantly allows himself to be pulled along by the black haired boy to a small warehouse, further away from all the other buildings. Weirdly, the scent seemed to become stronger the closer they got to the door of the warehouse.

 

Gerard stops and taps on the grey steel door of the warehouse, waiting patiently. It opens slightly, and a young, brown-haired man wearing a rose colored floral vest with white shirt and skinny brown pants peeks his head out, his face set in a small frown.

 

“Password?” He asks in a sort of monotone, and Gerard leans forward, taking a small breath.

 

“Andromeda,” Gerard breathes, and the young man steps aside, opening the door and gesturing for them to come in.

 

Frank steps inside and his attention is caught immediately by the decor within the warehouse. Pixie lights line the walls, dark blue and magenta streamers criss cross underneath the black-blue ceiling, which upon closer inspection, Frank notices that there are painted on constellations.

 

A few tables are around the warehouse, with purplish cloth covering each of them, a tea light in the center; Frank sniffs the air and determines the cloth is silk. Joyful bohemian-esque music plays in the background, and there are a few women dressed in long, flowy and thin dresses, and a few men are clothed in outfits similar to the young man’s.

 

Gerard, who takes no notice of Frank’s steady and awestruck observation, glances at the young man. “Thanks Ryan.”

 

The young man, Ryan, nods, and closes the door. “I see you’ve brought a guest, Gerard. Who might this be?” 

 

Frank clears his throat and holds his hand out. “Frank Iero, nice to meet you.”

 

Ryan takes Frank’s hand and gasps, quickly recoiling. “Gerard, you brought a vampire?!”

 

A tense silence falls over the entire room, and Frank knows he is the cause of it. 

 

“Ryan, Bre--” Gerard begins, but is cut off by a loud, cheery voice to his left.

 

“Ah, my guests!”

 

A man emerges from behind a makeshift room, the only walls being colorful and thick blankets. He’s dressed in a brown vest, white poet’s shirt and dark slacks, his shaggy brown hair almost covering his eyes. He’s taller than Frank, but there is an air to him that suggests he is friendly.

 

The man holds out his arms to Gerard and Gerard embraces him, laughing and clapping him on the back.

 

“It’s good to see you again, Brendon. Been far too long.” Gerard says, pulling away and sighing, and Brendon smiles.

 

“It has. Can’t remember the last time you were here, Gee. We’ve missed you. Especially Amora. She’s missed you the most.” The man, Brendon, turns to Frank and smiles. 

 

“So this must be Frank!” Brendon steps forward and embraces Frank, who tenses up slightly, not used to being hugged without being asked. He looks over at Gerard, who just mouths ‘Hug him back!’ and Frank complies, slightly uncomfortable.

 

Brendon pulls away and chuckles, looking at Frank up and down. “Can’t remember the last time I saw a vampire, to be quite honest. We don’t leave this place too often.” 

 

“Why’s that?” Frank asks, puzzled.

 

“Because we’re protected here,” Ryan pipes up, and moves to go stand beside Brendon, who slings an arm around Ryan’s shoulders.

 

“From what?” Frank is even more confused, and looks to Gerard, who just bites his lip.

 

“From vampires, other beings that are not human,” A female voice pipes up from behind them and Frank turns to see a young, olive-skinned woman dressed in a long, flowy white dress with a paisley scarf tied around her waist.

 

“Amora,” Gerard says, walking towards her and hugging her tightly, too tightly for Frank’s taste. In Frank’s honest opinion, there was too much hugging going on, and most of that hugging included Gerard.

 

“Gerard,” Amora murmurs, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek, studying his face. “I haven’t seen you in years. Where did you go?”

 

“I’ve… been around. Dealing with some things.” Gerard says, his face going pink. “But none of that’s important. I want you to meet someone.” Gerard places a hand on Amora’s lower back and moved her towards Frank, who got a sudden strange, tingly, feral feeling in his body, which scared him.

 

Amora seems to notice the change in Frank’s demeanor and stops a few feet short from him. “He’s not ready yet, Gerard. I don’t think he even knows what we are.” She turns to Gerard. “You did tell him what we are, right?”

 

Gerard’s face went even pinker and he shook his head. “Um…”

 

Amora rolls her eyes. “Gerard! You can’t just bring him into a den full of werewolves and not tell him about it!” 

 

In that moment, Frank knew that if he had any color in his face, it would’ve been gone in an instant.

 

Werewolves. That’s what that animal smell had been.

 

Real.

  
Werewolves.


	9. Devotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's been a while!

“You brought me into a den of  _ werewolves?”  _ Frank hisses at Gerard, outside of the warehouse.

 

“I-- I didn’t think it would be a problem, per say,” Gerard explains, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you knew they existed, hell, I didn’t even know they existed until seven years ago.”

 

Frank takes a breath. “Every vampire knows the existence of every supernatural being; it’s our job to know.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is very dangerous.  _ They’re  _ very dangerous.”

 

Gerard’s brow furrows. “I doubt that. Not Brendon, or Ryan, or Amora, not even the rest of them. They’re… tame.”

 

“Tame?”

 

“Yes, tame.”

 

“What makes them so tame?”

 

“Fuck if I know. Might have to do with the fact that they occasionally get high.”

 

Frank chuckles then sighs, and sits down on a lone tire near the door. “My maker told me stories about werewolves. How there was this war way back before I was even born. It was bad. They killed so many vampires, humans, even other supernatural creatures. They thought of themselves as gods, living only to be served as seen fit.”

 

Gerard leans against the metal wall of the warehouse. “Jeez, how long ago was this?”

 

“About a thousand years ago.”

 

Gerard whistles. “Holy shit. That long ago?” 

 

Frank nods. “Yes.” He furrows his brow. “Does Brendon and his pack know about the wars?”

 

“I’m not sure, but they’re technically not a pack.”

 

Frank’s face morphs into a confused expression. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well, Brendon was made a werewolf by accident when he was sixteen, just like how Mikey was made a vampire. He still doesn’t know who bit him, so when he first transformed, it scared him. He killed his family by accident.” Gerard pulls out his pack of cigarettes and gets one, lighting it. “No one explained to him what he was, and no one knew what he was, and he didn’t find out until he met Ryan.”

 

“Was Ryan already in a pack?”

 

“He was, but they were killed when he was only seven. So he set out to find someplace else to fit in, some other pack. But from what he had told me, most werewolves aren’t too friendly when it comes to outsiders, even if they’re their own kind. So he kind of wandered around, jumped from place to place for years, then made it to New York. That’s when he met Brendon.

 

“They kind of clicked, being two orphaned kid werewolves, Brendon not knowing what he is, and with Ryan being born a werewolf, he educated him, took him as his own. They’ve never left each other’s side since then.”

 

“Huh. And where does Amora come into all of this?”

 

Gerard chuckles. “Amora is the last of her line. Her whole family was wiped out in a car crash. She laughs about it because it’s such a human death for such supernatural beings.” He inhales, flicking his cigarette. “She didn’t meet Brendon and Ryan until seven years ago.”

 

“And the others?”

 

Gerard scrunches his face up, as if in concentration. “I don’t know much about the others, except for Dallon and Spencer; Dallon is mated with Amora, and Spencer is mated with a human girl.”

 

“That’s all?”

 

“Dallon and Spencer are very private people.”

 

“Ah, I see.”

 

The door of the warehouse creaks open, and Ryan’s brown head peeks around, searching for Frank and Gerard. 

 

“Are you guys coming in? Done with the shock of meeting some werewolves, Frank?” Ryan asks, a sly smile on his face.

 

Frank snorts and gets up, brushing off his jeans. “No one can really get over the shock of meeting a werewolf.”

 

Ryan laughs wryly, opening the door a little more to let the two in.

 

“Ah, Gerard! Is your friend okay now?” Brendon says, coming up to them, rubbing his hands together.

 

Gerard just nods then smiles. “I think he’ll manage. He’s strong.”

 

Frank rolls his eyes. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

 

Brendon laughs and puts his arm over Frank’s shoulders, guiding him towards a big table. “Please, sit!” he says, and Frank does, setting himself on a small puffy chair, watching as everyone else sits at the table with him. Thankfully, Gerard sits right next to him, leaving no spots open for anyone else near Frank.

 

“Well, now that that’s settled, let’s all have a nice time. Nora?” Brendon says, glancing at a pretty blonde woman standing close by. “Would you mind getting the drinks?”

 

Nora smiles. “Right away.” She glides off towards the bar and comes back with a tray of amber filled glasses, save for two that are clear and red. 

 

Frank smells the glass of blood before it even reaches the table and his fangs unsheath themselves from his pale gums.

 

Across from him, Ryan makes a sort of uncomfortable face, then quickly smooths his frown when he sees Frank watching him.

 

Ryan sends a sort of apologetic smile before speaking. “I’m just not used to it. I haven’t been around vampires much, so to see the fangs is a bit unsettling.”

 

Frank nods in understanding. “It’s alright,  _ mio amico. _ I understand.”

 

Ryan gives a short nod before turning his attention to Brendon, who seems deep in conversation with Dallon, and entwines his hand in Brendon’s on top of the table. Frank notices that Brendon smiles a small bit whilst talking and squeezes Ryan’s hand, as if to acknowledge him.

 

Frank turns to Gerard and speaks in a low voice, hoping that amongst the chatter, none of the werewolves will hear him speak.

 

“Are they together?” Frank murmurs, glancing towards Brendon and Ryan’s hands, and Gerard just nods, taking a sip of his water.

 

“They’re mates. I guess I neglected to mention that. Ryan is very devoted to Brendon, as Brendon is very devoted to Ryan.” Gerard smiles, then continues. “I’ve actually seen Brendon break someone’s bones over Ryan.”

 

“What for?” Frank says, taking a sip from his glass of blood, and feeling grateful that it was warm.

 

“They spat at him.”

 

Frank bites back a chuckle. “Brendon broke someone’s bones because they  _ spat _ at Ryan?”

 

Gerard nods. “Like I said, devoted.”

 

Frank smiles and turns his attention to the couple, observing the way Ryan seems to watch Brendon with such love and emotion, as if every word Brendon spoke was life itself for the brunette boy. And Frank also notices the way Brendon occasionally squeezes Ryan’s hand, glancing at him between breaks in conversation, as if marvelling at the man next to him.

 

Then Frank glances over at Gerard, who laughs at something Spencer says, and he wonders if he will ever look at the black haired boy the same way Ryan looks at Brendon. 

 

There were things about Gerard, that from the moment Frank had laid eyes on him, piqued him to no end. The way his mouth seemed to curl when he spoke, his tiny teeth, his little laugh. Frank knew so little about this human, and it astounded him how much he wanted to be around Gerard. Frank had never felt that way before about anyone, even as a human.

 

But then again, Frank had never really given much thought about love, mates, or even companionship. The only other companionship he had was his maker, and even then, that one was shaky at best. 

 

Elias had been a distant, albeit helpful mentor, guiding Frank through his first months as a vampire, even showing him that one could interact and maintain relationships with humans, even with the secrecy of being a vampire. Frank would forever be grateful for Elias, but he sometimes held great resentment for his maker, especially during the first year.

  
Frank wonders, and half hopes, that he will see his maker again, only to know where he has been for fifty years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all liked this chapter!
> 
> Things have been hectic and I've not been in the best shape, mental health wise, so writing is a struggle, especially for Lie To Me.
> 
> But I more than likely will be focusing more on this fic, just letting ya know.


	10. Doomed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this short chapter, and for depriving you all of an update.

Southampton, England

 

April 12th, 1912

 

Frank really couldn’t describe to anyone the feeling of being aboard a ship so big, full of people from different places and who spoke different tongues.

 

He could describe the feeling he had, though, seeing all the men and women and children, waving family and friends goodbye from the loading docks.

 

That feeling was sadness.

 

The sadness was on his part; he missed Italy, missed the small cottage, missed the little farm. Two years in London almost changed that, with the hectic and busy lifestyle many led there. Frank had worked hard in a mill, day and night, doing backbreaking labor, holding great resentment against his father.

 

That resentment only increased tenfold when Papa came home one night with news.

 

“La mia famiglia _, we are going to America!” Papa said excitedly, grasping Mamma’s hand in his. “We are going to start fresh in the land of dreams!”_

 

_There was an excited murmur amongst the women, but Frank stayed silent, staring stonily at his father._

 

_“You already uproot us from Italy, to bring us here where we are looked down upon even more, and now you want to take us somewhere where the people are even more unpredictable?” Frank scoffed, and his sisters hushed at his outburst, watching him nervously._

 

_Papa’s smile faded, and he cleared his throat as he looked at his one and only son. “Francesco--”_

 

_Frank slammed his fist on the wooden table, causing Mamma to gasp and his sisters to flinch. “No! Papa, I’ll be damned if I see this family ruined yet again because of your insolence!” Frank got up from the table, about to storm off, before he turned around and faced his father._

 

_“Don’t think I don’t know the true reason we left Italy, Papa.” Frank growled, and left the room, grabbing his coat and leaving the tiny apartment._

 

Frank pulled a hand rolled cigarette out of his pocket, quickly lighting it with a match from his other.

 

He sighed. Papa had the family leave Italy because his debts had grown, too immense to pay off, and Papa knew the collectors were going to come for him, and Frank’s sisters.

 

Frank had heard stories, how some of the women from Italy, especially in the poorer parts, would be snatched and put into whore houses as repayment for debts. Not even girls who were Isabella and Bethany’s age were safe.

 

Frank’s stomach boiled into a rage. The thought of any older men touching his sisters, especially his younger ones, made him murderous. Frank would die before he let anyone hurt his sisters.

 

A sudden throat clearing caught Frank’s attention, and he turned to see Jessella smiling at him.

 

“A happy occasion, don’t you think?” She murmured, snatching his cigarette and taking a puff, a mischievous glint in her eye.

 

“Yes, yes it is. And don’t let Mamma see you smoking, Jess. She’ll not hesitate to tan your behind.” Frank chuckled, taking the cigarette back from his sister.

 

She giggled, and looked out towards the people, who were still waving.

 

“Strange to think that many of these people might not see their relatives for a while,” Jessella observed, tightening her shawl around her shoulders. “What a price to pay.”

 

“A price that these people have gladly paid for.” Frank said, flicking the cigarette overboard. He turned to his sister and held out his arm. “Come. Let’s go find Mamma and the girls.”

 

Jessella nodded and hooked her arm in his, letting him lead the way.

 

******

 

 _“Mio caro stare vicino,”_ Mamma said, holding Isabella’s hand and Bethany’s in the other. “I don’t want to lose you.”

 

“Mamma!” Isabella whined, tugging on her mother’s hand. “I’m not a child!”

 

Frank snorted as they made their way through the levels of the ship. “Bella, you _are_ a child.”

 

“I am eighteen!” Isabella cried, and Bethany nodded.

 

“As am I!” Bethany added on, tugging against her mother’s grip.

 

Frank laughed. “You both will always be children in Mamma’s eyes.”

 

Mamma turned to look at her oldest son, and glared. “Francesco, don’t tease.”

 

Frank’s smirk disappeared, and as Mamma turned back around, Isabella and Bethany turned to face him, and both grinned widely at his scolding.

 

Frank shot them both a dirty look and walked past, catching up with Jessella.

 

“Jessella,” Frank said, capturing his sister’s attention.

 

“Yes, Frank?” Jessella replied, turning her attention away from a young woman that had briefly brushed past her.

 

“Do you ever just want to strangle the younger ones?” Frank remarked sullenly, glancing back at his youngest sisters, both who were still grinning.

 

Jessella chuckled. “Not particularly, no.” She caught his gaze, and smiled widely, not unlike the cat that caught the canary. “Just you, dear brother.”

 

Frank rolled his eyes, and hung back until his sisters and his mother had passed him, watching them rush forth through the throng of immigrants, not unlike themselves.

 

He allowed himself to be given a moment to truly take in the sight of the drones of people buzzing around him, all from different places, all lower class, and all here for the same reason.

 

_What a wonder. All these people, left behind everything they knew, just for a chance at a different life in a country they’ve never been to. Mad, yet truly remarkable._

  
Frank sighed and headed forth, catching up quickly to his family, letting his moment of observation dissipate, much like the sight of England as the ship, _Titanic_ , slowly made her way out into the deep blue, onto her first maiden voyage.


	11. Mikey, Interrupted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: light (but gross) description of a dead body and violence.

The Bronx

Three Years Ago

 

 

“Okay seriously, Pete, where are we going?” Mikey inquired, trailing behind the shorter boy.

 

Pete giggled and took a hit off his joint. “Gotta go deal with some people.”

 

Mikey stopped, crossing his arms. “‘Deal with some people’? What do you mean by that?”

 

Pete stopped too, only to turn to his friend and offer an apologetic smile, batting his lashes.

 

It took Mikey a moment. “No. No. No! Not again Pete…”

 

Pete sighed. “Look, do you want the money or not?” Mikey sighed, and Pete finished off the joint, flicking it somewhere into the darkness. “You know this is the only way, Mikes. The only way. And plus, we’ve been having fun, yeah?” Pete slung an arm around the lanky boy, pulling him down so that they were eye level. “You know I’d never let nothing happen to ya, right?”

 

Mikey bit his lip but nodded. “Yeah, I know. I just hate roughing people up, Petey.”

 

Pete let go of Mikey, and straightened out his black undershirt. “You look good dude. Just walk like it, okay? Can’t be seen with no fucking loser.”

 

Mikey snorted. “Shut up, Pete.”

 

“You first.” Pete winked, and began walking ahead of Mikey.

 

Mikey thought they had been walking for what felt like hours when they finally came to a dilapidated apartment building, the front steps housing three bums in dingy looking coats.

 

Pete walked up to one of them and cleared his throat. “Hey, he here?”

 

The homeless man looked up and coughed. “‘S not here. Why you askin’?”

 

“Because he owes me money, Jimmy. Now, imma ask again: is he here?” Pete’s voice took a threatening tone, and the man shivered, knowing exactly how Pete Wentz got when he wasn’t getting his way.

 

“He’s.. he’s upstairs.” Jimmy sputtered, shrinking away from Pete, and Pete smiled.

 

“Good man. Come on, Mikes.” Pete slinked past Jimmy and Mikey followed, offering a sympathetic shrug to the dirty man as he passed.

 

They entered the sketchy building, and made their way up the creaky stairs to the second floor, where Pete stopped in front of a door with the number twelve on it, knocked rhythmically three times, and waited. Mikey felt a churning sensation in his stomach, but ignored it.

 

There was silence for two minutes before Pete knocked again, this time more harsh. A scrambling could be heard on the other side of the door, and the two teenagers exchanged a look. Mikey sighed as Pete’s brow furrowed and his nostrils started to flare.

 

“Andrew, I know you’re in there. Open the fuck up!” Pete yelled, and continued to bang on the door.

 

“Pete--” Mikey started, but Pete turned and glared at him, cutting him short.

 

“Andrew!” Pete stopped banging and lightly pushed Mikey to the side, before backing up and ramming full speed at the door, breaking the weak wood. Pete kicked the rest of the door open and entered the apartment, Mikey trailing close behind, a little cautiously.

 

The apartment itself was dirty and smelled horrible. The two teens covered their faces with their hands, in a weak attempt to shield themselves from the smell.

 

“Christ, this fucking pig. Doesn’t he know how to use bleach?” Pete muttered, walking down the small hallway towards the bathroom, leaving Mikey in the living room.

 

“Apparently not. I’ll check the bedroom.” Mikey replied, starting towards the bedroom when Pete called out to him.

 

“No need. I found him… and the source of the smell.” Pete said, coming out of the bathroom, a disgusted look on his face.

 

Mikey walked towards Pete, his nose scrunched as he got closer to the smell. Pete stepped aside and Mikey saw Andrew, dead on the bathroom floor, his body mutilated and blood soaked.

 

“Jesus Christ.” Mikey moved hurriedly from the bathroom and bent over, vomiting all over the carpet.

 

“Fuck.” Pete hit the wall with his fist, and ran his fingers through his hair. “Fuck!” He began pacing. “I’m now down three hundred fucking dollars!”

 

Mikey stopped heaving and leaned his head against the opposite wall. “Pete, what are we gonna do?”

 

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Pete stopped pacing, his face riddled with confusion. “Wait a minute. Mikey, stand up.”

 

Mikey sighed and stood up, leaning against the wall. “I’m not cutting up any--”

 

“No, shut the fuck up. There’s someone still here. Remember the rustling?”

 

Mikey’s breath cut short, his heart quickening. “You don’t think whoever did--” --he gestured toward Andrew’s body-- “--this, is still here, do you?”

 

Pete’s voice lowered. “It’s a strong possibility. You got your gun?”

 

Mikey nodded and pulled it out of his waistband, releasing the safety. “Where do you think he is?”

 

Pete snorted. “Where else?” He looked towards the bedroom, and put his index finger to his lips as the both crept closer to the door.

 

“Pete I don’t think this is a good idea. Maybe we should--”

 

“Mikey, I don’t feel like going back to Armon and telling him I made a three hundred dollar deal with a dead man. Remember what happened to Milo?”

 

Mikey shivered, and sighed, defeated. “Fine. But I’m not killing anyone, okay?”

 

“No one said you had to.” Pete pushed open the door and turned on the light, which flickered and popped, fizzing out and leaving the room in darkness.

 

“Shit.” Pete pulled out his pocket flashlight and clicked it on. “Stay close by me.”

 

Pete slowly moved forward and checked the crevice between the wall and the bed, before moving towards the closet. A rustling signaled that, yes, there was someone in there, and Mikey’s breath quickened, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

 

Pete looked back at Mikey and nodded, before looking forward and reaching for the knob on the door.

 

Seconds felt like minutes in the quiet of the dark room, with every breath Mikey took punctuated by the quick beat of his heart, which felt like it was going to burst out his chest. When Pete’s hand touched the knob, Mikey felt as if he were in a bad horror movie.

 

Pete finally opened the closet door and breathed a sigh of relief, turning back towards his friend. “Fucking rats. It was rats.”

 

Mikey exhaled loudly, rubbing his temples, relief and left over fear still pulsing in his body. “Thank God.”

 

Pete slammed the door and turned to leave the room before stopping shortly in the doorway. “What the fu--”

 

A screeching sound pierced Mikey’s ears as Pete was thrown backwards by a dark figure, screaming before he hit the headboard.

 

Mikey panicked and held up the gun, pointing it at the attacker and fired repeatedly, watching as the figure kept looming closer, the bullets having no effect on it whatsoever.

 

He dropped the gun and ran full speed, colliding with the figure, and began wheezing when he felt cold hardness, presumably a fist, whack his stomach.

 

“Fuck.” Mikey gasped, crumbling to the floor and clutching at his stomach. “P-Pete!”

 

There was no answer, and the attacker picked Mikey up off the floor, slamming him against the wall and holding him by the throat.

 

“You think you can kill me? Do you know what I am?” The creature growled, and Mikey sputtered.

 

“Y-yes..” Mikey kept coughing, grasping at the cold hand wrapped around his throat.

 

“What if I killed you? I could just drain you and your friend right here, right now, and no one would know.” The vampire chuckled, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

 

“Jim...Jimmy would know.” Mikey managed, and the grip on his throat got tighter.

 

“Oh, but I could kill him too.” The vampire laughed, his nails now digging into the skin on Mikey’s neck. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

 

Mikey was suddenly dropped, his knees cracking as he hit the floor. He whimpered when he felt a hand pulling at his hair, and his head tilted roughly to the side, hot breath fanning on his carotid.

 

“You smell so good.” And with that, the vampire sank his teeth into Mikey’s neck, and he screamed, his limbs going slack as the vampire sucked his blood.

 

A sudden yelling made the vampire pull off, and a gunshot echoed in the room, and Mikey slumped to the floor as a gust of wind carried the creature out the window.

  
“Mikey?!” Pete cried, watching as his friend began convulsing, helpless to do anything. “Mikey!”


End file.
